


i'm not saying that everything is survivable just that everything except the last thing is

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, OT5, Polygamy, and john green quotes, but mainly angst, mentions/implications of sexy time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe its like you said before, all of us being cracked open. Like each of us starts out as a watertight vessel. And then things happen - these people leave us, or don’t love us, or don’t get us, or we don’t get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel starts to crack in places. And I mean, yeah once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable. Once it starts to rain inside the Osprey, it will never be remodeled. But there is all this time between when the cracks start to open up and when we finally fall apart. And its only that time that we see one another, because we see out of ourselves through our cracks and into others through theirs. When did we see each other face to face? Not until you saw into my cracks and I saw into yours. Before that we were just looking at ideas of each other, like looking at your window shade, but never seeing inside. But once the vessel cracks, the light can get in. The light can get out." John Green - Paper Towns</p><p>They're in a polygamous relationship, based mainly on sexual intercourse. That's what they're doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. splintered vessels and white lines and innocent souls

**Author's Note:**

> this was never meant to be anything really, just a sort of fictionalized analysis. so. if it's sucky tell me. if it's good tell me. either way, critique on my sleep deprived babble would be great :)..i might edit it somehow at some point..i dunno yet.

The five of them are splintered vessels.

These glorious watertight ships that cast looming shadows on less significant rowing boats, voyages and journeys through choppy waves and calmer waters predetermined by none other than Fate herself. Majestic beings floating, streamlined, easy and unperturbed, in one very clear direction, a golden horizon always within their sights, sturdy wooden deck and steel body holding them afloat.

It was only a matter of time before the splinters became cracks.

When they started out, they were young and fresh and perhaps a little too tainted with the naivety of believing the world was anything other than perfect. “ _One Direction,_ ” was the cheerful cry in a cluttered bedroom in a much too big house in a city they’d never visited. They were young. Fresh. Tainted with naivety that their dreams were anything other than what they’d imagined.

Life now is very different to the early days.

Four years have passed since that night in the bedroom of the X-Factor house. They’ve grown. Changed. Splinters have become cracks and the light seeps through, illuminating all the black cobwebbed corners, chasing away the dark and replacing it with something blinding and leaving them open, exposed.

It’s all a blur.

From the night they left the show to the morning after when they signed a contract with Simon Cowell, effectively giving the devil their souls. So it’s all a blur from then till now and back again and all the time inbetween.

It’s all a blur of white lines and smiley face tabs and hazy confessions in the time between the moon going down and the sun coming up. Nimble fingers that fumble, inebriated, with plaid shirt buttons and stiff zippers on new jeans slung low on emaciated hips. Knobbly ankles that knock and bump together when they stumble into another room in another hotel they can’t remember the name of in another city they’ve given up trying to keep track of.

It’s all a blur so it’s not surprising, really, that none of them noticed when the light flooded in and cleared the cobwebs and left them blinded. It was bound to happen sooner or later. And none of them are adjusting as well as everyone had hoped they would. But then that’s what happens when the devil gains five new, innocent young souls.  


	2. philosophy and love and the problems they conjure up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam gets thoughtful when it's late and they're tired and tangled up.

They’re lying in what can only be described as a tangle on God knows whose bed in God knows what hotel in God knows what city, limbs and hair and sweat chained like anchors, when Liam breaks the silence they didn’t realize they’d fallen into. “What are we doing here?” It’s Louis who replies sardonically, because, well, that’s Louis’ default setting and his words would leave deep scars if they weren’t so blunt and devoid of malice.

“Are you being all philosophical or…because I’m too tired to deal with that shit, Payne,”

“No. _No._ I. I mean what. _What are we doing here?”_ and he doesn’t even have to repeat himself because the curious tone that clings to his tongue like a lifeline, like his last little piece of childhood, tells them exactly what he means. It’s not often they’re forced into discussing what they’re doing. But Liam often has his ways. Louis’ mouth snaps shut, and Zayn, the ever-present sage of all knowledge is the first to reply, if a little unwilling, his tone tired and wistful.

“Well. We’re in a polygamous relationship, based mainly on sexual intercourse, Liam. That’s what we’re doing.”

“Yes I know but. Isn’t there more to it?” Five bodies stiffen and it wouldn’t be noticeable if they knew whose limbs were whose. But that’s a perk or maybe a flaw of their closeness; it doesn’t matter whose is whose because nothing is your own, anyway, and it’s only amplified four-fold  by being in a band with your four boyfriends.

“What more could there be?”

And because nothing is their own, they share a quiet thought. _Love?_ Absolutely not. The tension in the atmosphere says otherwise, but they fall asleep where they lie regardless. They’ll deal with it another time.


	3. in which things would be different but not really

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol and white lines make Zayn pensive.

It’s after a cacophony of white lines and yellow tabs and green shots that Zayn becomes pensive, sage-like and ethereal and completely ridiculous, like Lewis Carroll’s caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland. “Like, just imagine. If one of us didn’t turn up that day. Or we didn’t get along. Or we were just shit. Imagine how different things would be now. Like…yeah. Different.”

“Are you quite finished, Malik?” Louis’ lips curl as he eyes Zayn over the rim of his vodka, white rum, Antifreeze cocktail. Niall’s giggling at something with Harry in a far off corner and Liam has his head in his hands muttering something along the lines of, _‘I want to die. Why won’t any of you let me die? I want to die I hate you all I hate the world I hate this drink,_ ’ before downing said drink in one shot and stumbling off to throw a heavy arm around Harry’s neck, whispering filthy things into his ear that has even Niall blushing.

“I think so,” Zayn runs an index finger along his lips, eyes dark and half lidded and eyebrows beading with sweat.

“Good, then shut up,” Louis puts down his empty cocktail glass and clambers into Zayn’s lap where he’s sunken into a beanbag chair that, bizarrely, had been launched onto stage just hours ago at their first show. It’s when Louis’ sunken down too, lips dragging against Zayn’s exposed collarbone, along his jaw, fingers winding down South that Zayn speaks again.

“Yeah. different. So different. Like we wouldn’t be doing what we’re doing,”

“You’re talking in riddles, mate, lay off the green stuff yeah?”

“What are we doing ?”

“Well we were getting shitfaced in preparation for the rest of our second world tour, and now I’m groping you because you look extremely fuckable when you’re out of it,”

“No. Lou,” Zayn shoves at his shoulder and it’s enough to kill a viagra boner but Louis doesn’t hold it against him, “Louis. What are we doing?”

“We sold our souls to the devil and now we’re earning them back. Does that answer your question?” Louis dives back in, feels three sets of eyes boring into his back. He hadn’t noticed the room had gone silent till now. He smirked.

“I think so. Yeah,”

“Yeah?”

“Not really,” But then all is forgotten because Zayn is standing up, hands on Louis’ arse and Louis’ legs wrapped around Zayn’s waist, mouths hot and wet and locked and they’re falling into clean white cotton sheets, into blinding oblivion.


	4. love, actually, but is it really?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God be damned if Louis' the last to ask.

“What are we doing, Harold?”

“I thought we were watching Love, Actually…why?”

“Never mind,”

“ _Lou_ ,”

“Never mind, Harold. Just go back to watching. But at least get a bucket for your drool,” and then because Louis’ a tease, “Hugh Grant isn’t _that_ sexy, God,”

There’s a pillow to his face and his head is hitting the floor and Harry is suddenly straddling his waist, slapping and pinching and biting everywhere he can reach crying out, “Take it back! Louis Tomlinson, you take that back!” and they’re rolling and wrestling and breathless when Harry finally stops, face flushed and dimples looking carved into his cheeks. He leans down, presses a sweet kiss to Louis’ mouth. “You’re sexier though,”

“Sexier than Zayn?”

“He’s got you trumped on that one, mate. Nobody on the planet has that title,”

“Good point,” 

And just like that, they clamber back up into the sheets, nestling closer and resuming with the film. As if on cue, the other three bound in, then.“What’re we watchin’?” and “Ugh I’m knackered,” and “We heard a commotion! What happened?” The story is retold and kisses are placed where needed, bruises fixed with soft, sweet lips.

Later on, all settled and tangled and anchored much like that first night, silence is broken once again.

“ _What are we doing_?”

The silence is only broken again two hours later by the soft snores of Niall and Zayn and a crooning Liam.


	5. cries for help and war cries and why-can't things-be-different cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Niall thinks if they were normal things'd be easier.

It’s not like he meant for it to come out when he did (in the middle of one of Harry’s many solo’s and ‘ _Niall needs solo’s too, his voice is just as good as the rest of us’_ ) but Harry’s already faltered slightly so it’s too late, he heard.

Harry waits. Niall waits too.

The subject comes up again in the dressing room, ten minutes before they’re due to go on for the last two songs. There’s a too small couch (come on now, that’s getting _old_ , God) and a single armchair .Harry, all gangly limbs and matted hair is sprawled in the armchair, head dangling over one arm and legs over the other. Niall’s on top of him, the other three abandoning rest for larking around; Louis’s got Zayn in a headlock and to Zayn’s utter bewilderment and disgust, Liam is helping. The two of them are _ruffling his hair_. He gives out a cry for help before tapping Liam on the balls and flitting away from his grip, shame nowhere to be seen at hitting his best friend down South.

Louis lets out a vengeful war cry just as Harry leans into Niall’s neck, whispers something and holds it there with his teeth. It’s just for them. “I don’t know,”Niall inhales and bites his lip, cool metal of his braces cutting into the soft flesh.

The rabble stops and Zayn flops down onto Niall, situating himself in the gap between his thighs and sinking down onto Harry’s knees. “What’re we talking about?” Because _oh_ , yeah. Nothing is anyone's and everything is everybody's.Harry lets his head droop over the side of the armchair again as Louis bounds over too, afraid to miss out, Liam in tow, flinging the two of them haphazardly in Zayn’s lap. They’re a mass of arms and legs and tangles when Niall gives Zayn a meaningful look. “Oh. _That_ ,”  

“When are we actually gonna sit down and discuss this like grown ups?” Nobody’s sure who said it but it goes unanswered anyway because Paul is banging heck out of the door and they’re all scrambling over each other to get to the door first, determined not to be last out. Niall sighs, rubs a hand over his face. At this rate, nothing is going to get discussed.

But then that’s what happens when the devil gains five new, innocent young souls.Everything important takes a backseat and you fulfil the devils wishes to earn your soul back, no questions asked.Sometimes Niall thinks they might have to take their souls back of their own accord if they’re ever going to figure anything out. Maybe things’d be easier without the fame. Without the prying eyes of the media and the endless stream of attention and. Maybe things’d be easier if they were… _normal._

He allows a single tear to form and fall over his eyelid but then he’s brushing it away furiously because he can get through this. He _can._


	6. because pretending is easy and right is never the first option

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides the breakfast table might be a good place to bring it up...

The breakfast table is quiet, subdued, if only for a few groans muffled into forearms or the sound of their collective heart _beatbeatbeating._ But then it’s always like this when they’ve had _plenty of vodka jelly shots, keep ‘em comin’ and tequila, two lemons no salt please_ , for the previous night’s supper. Niall’s got a mouthful of scrambled egg, and there’s a packet of Rich Tea on their way to being demolished by Louis, one poised in his hand with a vice like grip when Harry asks the inevitable.

When will they learn that silence is dangerous?

 _“What are we doing?”_ Harry repeats with a huff, his own harsh tone causing him to have to rub his temples at the sheer volume. The eggs drop from Niall’s mouth and the Rich Tea biscuit never makes it to Louis’ mouth. Zayn doesn’t stir from his perch in Liam’s lap where there are circles being traced into his spine with Liam’s fingernail. Liam follows his finger. Niall shovels more food into his mouth, leaving Louis with the only excuse not to talk.

So, of course, he does.

“What do you want me to say, Harry? What?”  Liam shifted and Niall stopped eating. Harry looked to the floor, bravery diminished in Louis’ icy glare. Suddenly the eggs on Harry’s plate reminded him of Liam’s vomit on the bathroom floor a few hours ago and his appetite vanishes completely.

“What? We’re all secretly fucking each other because none of us have the guts to choose? We weren’t raised quite right so we feel the strange urge to seek comfort in the most self destructive of places?” Harry makes to speak but is very quickly shut down by Louis, head spinning from the whiplash. Or maybe the alcohol. Or maybe the fact that none of them know the answer to what could be perceived as a very important question.

“What Harry? It was _you_ who didn’t want to label us because ‘ _we know what we are’._ That’s why Liam asked us all in the hotel room that first day. Zayn asked me in our bedroom. I asked you in your bedroom. Niall asked you on stage. And you’re asking us all, here, now, at the fucking breakfast table. If we knew why would we ask?”

“Because if we knew what we were we’d have to stop…b-because pretending is easier…” Zayn’s voice cracks on the last word and they know he’s right because given the option of right and easy, they’ve all always gone for the latter and everything’s always gone to shit.

So now this has, too.

**Author's Note:**

> dare i say i'm actually pretty happy with this?


End file.
